Hold 'Em Hostage Part 25

"Considering the evidence we have, and the remainder you will provide by cooperating, I'd say you might have to plea bargain for a couple hundred hours of community service, which will bring you back to Vegas for a few months later this year."

After the week I'd had, I thought that should sound worse than purgatory, but somehow it didn't sound that bad after all.

Twenty-eight.

"Ben, what made you think you could pull off a miracle? That was foolhardy, dangerous grandstanding. Besides which, you mutilated yourself." I pulled a face at the tattoo. It did make him look tough, but it was ugly as all get out.

"I already called Joaquin, he's removing it tomorrow," Ben said. "Although it's growing on me."

Shana c.o.c.ked her head, shooting him a warning glare. He put up his hands. "I promise. It's out of here."

"Ben, don't avoid my question," I said. "You were lucky to get out alive, and now that you have I might kill you. Didn't you learn your lesson when you pulled this James Bond business the last time we were in Vegas? Mother is beside herself with worry over you."

He shocked me by saying, "I understand."

"You understand Mom? Did they do a lobotomy on you while you were in Medulaville?"

"Not only do I understand Ma, but she will understand why I took a chance too. You do these kinds of things when you're a parent, Bee Bee."

"Okay, but..." I paused. "What did you say? And how would you know?"

Ben and Shana shared a look, like the dozens of mystery gazes they'd been throwing back and forth since the first night we'd arrived in Vegas. Shana shook her head. "Ben, until we can confirm-"

"I'm confirming it. That's all we need. We don't need blood, we don't need DNA. I'm Aph's dad, whether you want me to be or not. We'll tell her as soon as she gets here."

My mouth dropped open. My limbs went weak, and I dropped onto the couch. Wordlessly, my mouth opened and closed. I shook my head.

"This doesn't make any sense," I finally choked out.

Shana sat down on the couch next to me and patted my knee. "It's still all supposition. See, when Affie went missing, Ben asked me about her dad-whether we should contact him-and I told him I really didn't know Aph's father's name. So I told the story of how she was conceived at that masquerade party in college..."

I'd heard the story, of course, never guessing I might know the man in the peac.o.c.k-feathered mask, much less be related to him.

Ben picked up where she trailed off "...I'd been in Dallas on a sales trip, when I ran into some SMU coeds at a bar and they invited me to the masquerade ball."

"Kind of old, weren't you, twenty-six and crashing a college party?" I asked.

Ben raised his eyebrows. Since when did he have any scruples?

"Never mind, stupid question."

"...well," Shana continued, "once we realized we'd been at the same party, we got into some things about what happened that night only the two of us could know."

Shana blushed. I stared. My boisterous friend never blushed, never got embarra.s.sed; she, proud of her intemperance, would normally be telling me the details, drawing me a picture. Not that I wanted that when my brother was involved. Ick. Super ick.

I shook my head. "I don't believe it. Aphrodite is way too responsible to have been sp.a.w.ned from the two of you, the most impulsive, hedonistic pair on the face of the earth."

And then Aphrodite walked in through the door with Frank, Joe and Jack, and I saw it. I saw Ben in her. In the green of her eyes, in the dimple on her right cheek. In the way she strutted when she walked. Wow. How could I have not seen it before, after all these years?

Ben saw the recognition and the wonder on my face and nudged me with his shoulder, as he whispered, "Good thing she got my looks because I guess she inherited her Aunt Bee Bee's serious-as-a-heart-attack character. Poor kid." Ben grinned and ran to his two girls, grabbing them in a bear hug.

The secret was out. My brother was back. My best friend had finally grown up.

And, I had a brand-new niece.

I waited, patiently for once, for my own hug, because I wanted it to last the rest of her life.

Dale Trankosky was leaning against a white Porsche convertible in the valet area as I left the Mellagio a few hours later. Vavoom. "h.e.l.lo, Belinda."

A silver stiletto, size eight, dangled from his index finger.

"Are you trying to be Prince Charming?"

"Is it working, Cinderella?"

"You've got a little more work to do, but thanks," I said plucking my beloved Angel from his fingertip. "This is a good start, although I don't want you to get in trouble for swiping evidence."

"Considering they picked up your Dragsnashark, whose name is Pablo Nunez, and he's singing, they decided they didn't need it anymore."

I nodded, pleased. "How long have you been there?"

He shrugged. I guessed he was off duty, since he wore a blue and yellow striped polo, khaki shorts and deck shoes. It was a little disconcerting to see him in street clothes, because it made him seem more like a person and less like a cop. Somehow it balanced out his shaved head, softened his ironic mouth.

"You know, you could have come up to the suite, if you needed to talk to me," I told him as I approached. "And not loiter down her and scare the natives." The valets were all eyeballing him, having pegged him for a cop immediately. He had the power aura. I doubted he'd ever be able to work undercover and get away with it. Unless he went under as a crime boss.

"I didn't trust myself to behave in a private venue."

I raised my eyebrows.

"You know, Belinda," he said, "we are in the most romantic city in the world."

I perceived Vegas a lot of ways-s.e.xy, dangerous, thrilling, bizarre, otherworldly, recently quite deadly-but never romantic. "How do you figure?"

"More people get married here than anywhere else."

"For reasons other than romance," I put in.

"I never pegged you for a cynic," Trankosky said.

"I guess you don't know me that well then, do you?"

"I'd like to...get to know you. Every inch of you. Inside and out."

"That's kind of suggestive, Detective."

"Only for people with dirty minds," he returned with a lopsided grin. "Those of us who see a city of neon, gamblers, pimps and prost.i.tutes as romantic find that kind of comment...touching."

I belly laughed. I couldn't help it. He was actually cute-in a dog-begging-for-a-bone way, albeit an oversize trained-to-kill dog, like a mastiff. "Well, consider me touched then."

"Not yet," he murmured, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me just close enough to kiss.

I hesitated. He waited. Then I remembered that I'd made a decision days ago that I had to move on with my life. "You did quit dipping, didn't you?" I asked, surprised to feel comfortable in his arms when I had become so accustomed to another's.

He laughed and nodded. "I had a good incentive."

I relaxed, and Dale Trankosky kissed me. It wasn't a Frank kiss. It wasn't toe curling, flame inducing or wanton, but it felt soothing and nice. Maybe the cop was a romantic after all. I sighed. "I think I needed that after the week I've had."

He murmured, "You don't want to get married today, do you? I'm tight with an Elvis preacher who could work us in."

Smiling at his joke, I eased away. "Not today."

"Okay, Bee Cool, when you feel hot!"-he grinned at my raised eyebrows, and backed off-"or just like talking, give me a call, I can be a friendly ear. My lips are pretty friendly too, not to mention my hands..."

Laughing again, I put up my hand to stop him. "I get the picture, and I have your number. Now, how about giving me a ride to the airport?"

Frank had slipped out during the big reunion earlier to take his kids to breakfast at the Black Bear. Monica had told me what time their flight was departing and that she and her parents were meeting Frank at the security checkpoint. I'd gotten there first because I wanted to read his face when he saw Monica for the first time in years as her mother confirmed they, not Monica, transferred the kids for Frank's visits. When I did see Frank's face, from behind the cover of a rent-a-car kiosk, I knew in my heart my decision was right. The hardness life's unfairnesses had laid around his eyes and mouth softened away. His brown eyes begged forgiveness and hungered for what had been lost. It only lasted an instant but that was all I needed to confirm what I suspected. As he gave her a small peck on the cheek, then turned his attention to the children, I approached as if I'd just arrived. After a shot of guilty surprise, he drew me into his arms and kissed me. I broke away, whispering, "Don't confuse the children, Frank."

Then I drew the kids into a circle with Monica and Frank and stepped back out of their way to chat with Monica's parents, mostly about my home renovation since Randolph was a retired contractor and had plenty of useful input. I was aching to talk to Frank about Ben and Shana and my G.o.ddaughter who was my niece, but didn't. Instead, as I listened to Randolph, I watched Frank tousle Matthew's hair and tickle Katie until she giggled. He seemed so natural with them-something I didn't expect after all their time apart. The call came for preboarding and the kids' faces fell. Wilma gathered their things. Randolph manned Monica's chair. I leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Thank you for your help."

"Thank you for making him happy," she said softly, with a smile.

I couldn't answer, so I turned away to see Katie crying quietly as she wrapped her arms around her daddy's neck and Matthew, with especially shiny eyes, high-fiving Frank over his sister's head. Smiling, I shook Randolph's hand and waved at the kids as they grabbed their grandmother's hands and bounced down the concourse behind their mother's wheelchair.

Once they'd disappeared, Frank turned to me, his face softening but nothing like it did for Monica. "She likes you," he said.

"I like her," I answered. "Who wouldn't?"

"Honey Bee," Frank slipped his arm around me. "This week was full of too many close calls. I know I sound like a broken record, but give up poker. It's your curse. You know it's not good for you."

"I'm not going to give up poker, Frank. I'm going to give up...you." I handed him the plane ticket I'd bought for him on my way in.

His breath caught, and he turned away. I held fast, willing myself not to touch him, not to rea.s.sure him, to be as composed and strong as Monica Gilbert was, as I let my love go.

"Frank, you have a terrific family. Other men should envy you-a lovely wife, two great kids. Go back to that. That, not me, is what can keep you stable, looking for tomorrow, not drinking. That, not me, is what you can wake up each morning to with hope and happiness. That, not me, will make life worth living."

"Honey Bee, this is about that Clark County cop, isn't it? Joe told me-"

I refused to feel guilty about the kiss, whether he knew about it or not. This wasn't about that. This was about him. About the "us" that obviously wasn't working for him. I steeled myself. "Go back to them, Frank. It's the right thing. It's the good thing. It's the only thing that will heal your soul. Good-bye."

I turned and walked away. Frank Gilbert didn't come after me. When I turned around, he was gone.

Bee's Buzz.

Bee Cool's Top Tip for Surviving.

High-Pressure Tournament Hold 'Em.

The question I am asked more than any (except maybe "Where do you get such awesome shoes?") is "How can I win playing a big game of Texas Hold 'Em?" Try coming up with a one-sentence answer for that one as you rush to your table, or if you're me, to the ladies' room or away from a knife-wielding murderer.

Even the most seasoned of pros will be stumped by this, really the simplest of poker questions, for a moment or two, mostly because the answer that rises to the tip of the tongue may depend on the chip stack the player is sitting behind, what's in her pocket or the memory of the last four tournaments she busted out of.

If this experience in Vegas has taught me anything, it's taught me the best one WORD answer to that question.

OPI.

Okay, so maybe it's not in the dictionary.

Yet.

Yeah, yeah, so it leads to a second question, which is "What the &%@# does OPI mean anyway?"

In an effort to make OPI a household word, or at least a true poker-room word, I will explain: O-OBSERVE. Probably the most underrated of all poker skills, this also could be the most difficult for many. Observing requires one to keep one's eyes and ears open and mouth shut. Make your next goal to only use the words fold, check, raise, all in and call (Okay, Mom) and thank you at your next Hold 'Em tournament. See how far it gets you. If you are listening and watching everyone else, you will be amazed at how much you will learn and how much you can use against your opponents later. Many times it isn't even what is said, but how it is said that you can internalize and judge. The fantasic bonus to this is that you unconsciously eliminate most of your own tells. This is where many women (men too, don't misunderstand me) make their mistakes. Part of our makeup is the desire to make others comfortable and conversation is one of the ways we are taught to do that. Unlearn that little social skill when at the felt. Act like Frank's ex did when she played. Act mute.

P-PATIENCE. The true dinosaur of our instant-gratification society. Their ability to simply wait is why so many of the old-time poker players will continue to prosper in this game through their lifetimes. The new generation is handicapped because they are trained that they gotta have it now. Try to live in the old days when it took the Pony Express a couple of months to deliver the mail instead of a couple of moments. This kind of mindset allows you to survive throughout bad runs, until your luck turns, also through great runs, when (if you are patient) you know your luck is bound to turn back the other direction. Now you might see some impatient cardplayer win a handful of tournaments in a row, but if he's not willing to ride through being outside the payout for a string of tournaments somewhere along the way, he won't keep playing. I daresay this is the most important of all poker tips. The rewards a player reaps from mastering patience is what will keep the game of Texas Hold 'Em from being too changed by its ma.s.sive popularity.

Because the turtle still wins in the long run (even if sometimes he has to act like a hare).

I-INTUITION. The flipside of the women's difficulty in being able to simply observe is the ease in which we are able to trust what we feel. So use it, ladies! There's never a better time than when on the felt. Don't get me wrong, though. I didn't say men weren't intuitive, just they don't as easily tap into their intuition. The most intuitive group of men in the world, I believe, will be the ones seated around the final table at the WSOP. Never underestimate the boxer wearer across The Flop from you. He may be reading your surge of adrenaline at your pocket rockets better than you are.

Now I am bound to get reamed by those who misunderstand the difference between observing and intuiting. Men usually observe the gal in seat two biting her lower lip every time a ball buster falls but might not guess it's because it's made her hand. Women might sense she bites her lower lip every time she has the nuts but not notice it's when she gets the card she needs. If you are aware of both-what you've observed and what you "know"-just think how powerful you will be at the table, especially with that healthy dose of patience to wait to act on what you've observed and intuited until it is the right time!

Okay, folks, armed with OPI, now all you need is a little luck and you're in the chips.

The Poker Mysteries by Jackie Chance.

DEATH ON THE FLOP.

CASHED IN.

HOLD 'EM HOSTAGE.